The Song Of The Century
by Quackers McPherson
Summary: Blaine Emerson is a collected, confident, successful student at Dalton Academy. Kurt Hummel is having trouble at school. When they meet, Blaine take Kurt under his wing but what will come of that intimate relationship?
1. You're Not Alone

**After I saw "Never Been Kissed", I knew I had to do a story for Blaine and Kurt. I love those boys and I'll be damned if they don't end up together. Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter seems action-less, but I've got to set up the scene. A lot of the Klaine interaction in this one is straight from the episode, with my spin on things filling in the blanks. I swear that there will actually be a plot and not just, "Boy meets boy and they eventually fall in love." My summary sucks... **

**Also, this is all told from Blaine's point of view, because 1) I don't think I could do Kurt's internal monologue justice, 2) there haven't been as many stories told from Blaine's eyes and I think he should have his say in more depth than he's been allotted, and 3) since we don't know much, I get to make it up!**

**Anyway, please enjoy and feedback is, as always, appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: ****Story title credit goes to Green Day. Chapter title credit goes to Saosin. ****Glee, its characters, and its setting do not belong to me. Neither do Harry Potter or "Teenage Dream". Basically, it's safe to assume that nothing belongs to me. =(**

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**The Song Of The Century**

**Chapter 1: You're Not Alone**

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The day started out like any other. My alarm buzzed annoyingly at some ungodly hour and I smacked the device, flopping onto my stomach, my face pressed into the soft pillow. My bed was just _so_ warm I didn't think I could bear the thought of leaving it. The ambient temperature of my room was at least fifteen degrees colder than the pile of blankets I was currently under. Getting up just seemed like a bad idea.

My alarm beeped again. My clumsy fingers slid out, hitting the right combination of buttons to disable the godforsaken mechanism. I didn't get up right away; I had to mentally prepare myself for the assault I was about to endure. In one swift motion, I hefted the mountain of covers off my body and made a dash for the bathroom.

The shower was on and at its hottest setting before I could count to five. I shimmied under the warm water, savoring the feeling. As always, my shower regiment lasted nearly half an hour and, by the time I emerged, my bathroom was completely shrouded in fog. Towel hanging loosely from my waist, I sashayed into my now-warm bedroom and opened my dresser. I found a clean pair of boxer shorts and put them on, letting my towel fall into a heap on the floor. I pulled a neatly pressed, white, button-up shirt from a hanger in my closet and slipped my arms through the long sleeves. Grabbing a pair of ironed, charcoal gray slacks, I stepped into them, tucking the white shirt in before buttoning the pants. A plain black belt and red-and-navy striped tie followed. I shrugged the heavy, red-trimmed, navy blazer over my shoulders and buttoned it, adjusting the tie and pinning it in place.

I checked the clock: 7:26 am. I had less than twenty minutes to get to school. Hurrying into the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and dried my hair. I squirted a generous dollop of gel into my palm and massaged it through my dark brown hair. The product stifled my natural curls and provided a stronger hold than hair spray so that my hair looked prim and proper all day long. Pulling the little case from the top drawer, I slipped my contacts in over my caramel-colored eyes. The correction wasn't major, but I couldn't drive without them.

Time check: T-10 minutes. I grabbed a pair of navy dress socks and pulled them on before stuffing my feet into the black loafers that completed my school uniform. In one deft motion, I swept all the books piled on my desk into my open book bag. The leather strained against the sheer number of things crammed into it. I hauled it onto my shoulder and jumped down the stairs.

The clock in the kitchen read 7:41. I cursed under my breath, grabbing both my car keys and the lunch my mom set out for me off the counter. At a dead sprint, I ran through my house, out the garage, and into my red Lexus LS. Hurling my stuff in the back, I peeled out of the driveway, zipping down the street. Thankfully, Dalton Academy was close to my house.

I heard the bells ringing as I pulled up and swung into a parking spot. Snatching my stuff up from the backseat, I walked quickly towards the building. The red brick structure was massive, with white gilded arches, tall drawing room windows, and a courtyard at the very heart of the school. I waltzed through the main doors, greeting my friends as I navigated the elegantly decorated halls, up the spiral staircase, and into my first class of the day: calculus I.

The room was fairly spacious, with three rows of six seats lined up across the room facing a huge chalkboard. The tardy bell rang just as I was about to take my seat in the front, left corner. Instead I remained upright, my classmates quickly mimicking my behavior as the teacher entered the room. He was in his mid-thirties, with sandy blonde hair and striking green eyes.

"Take your seats," Mr. Fletcher said amiably.

I sat down, rummaging through my bag to find my homework as Mr. Fletcher began taking attendance.

"Aarons."

"Here, sir."

"Barnaby."

"Here, sir."

"Brown."

"Here, sir."

"Dennison."

"Here, sir."

"Do."

"Here, sir."

"Emerson."

"Here, sir," I replied.

Mr. Fletcher gave me a small smile. Although he could never admit it publically, I was his favorite student. Math came naturally to me and I enjoyed it, unlike most of my peers.

"Everett," the teacher called, returning to attendance.

"Here, sir."

I ignored the rest of the daily ritual as a note fell onto my desk. Unfolding the paper, I recognized the disorganized scrawling as belonging to my friend David.

"_Secret show this afternoon after 5__th__ period in the Senior Commons."_

"_Which song?" _I wrote back, rolling the note to David, who was two seats behind me.

A few moments later, the note reappeared.

"_Teenage Dream. Tell Wes."_

I folded the note and passed it to the Asian boy sitting next to me. Once he'd read it, he nodded and stuck the note into his pocket as Mr. Fletcher wrapped up attendance and began lecturing on derivatives.

Occasionally the Warblers, our acapella show choir, gave surprise concerts. The Warblers, like jocks in most schools, were at the top of the social hierarchy at Dalton. Attendance at their performances was generally maxed out and concerts were highly anticipated.

The knowledge of the show that afternoon drew my attention away from the abnormally boring math class, the usually dry English class, and the unpredictably variable American government class (which, for the record, was slightly interesting today). My fourth class of the day was Latin and it was easily one of my favorites. I wasn't exactly the best student, but I really applied myself and I loved the language and the crazy Romans.

My teacher, Mr. Montgomery, was a purist. He demanded accurate translations and impeccable pronunciation. In fact, he was one of the few Latin teachers that bothered teaching his pupils how to speak the dead language.

"Salve, sir," I said as I walked in.

The man at the desk was in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair, once a rich, chestnut brown, was now flecked with gray. His steel gray eyes were sharp from years of hardship unknown.

"Salve, Emerson," he grunted with a curt nod in my direction.

Once the class had assembled and attendance had been taken, Mr. Montgomery set about preaching the important of proper conjugation. Latin has five declensions (nominative, genitive, dative, ablative, and accusative) and three genders (masculine, feminine, and neuter) and could be singular or plural. All in all, it's a lot to remember. Despite the fact that I have trouble with this particular topic, I found that my concentration was waning. Anticipation was building in my stomach because I just knew that today's show was going to be special. I wasn't sure why, but I had an inkling.

As soon as the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, I bolted from the room and into the cafeteria to find Wes and David. Wesley Do was of Chinese descent and had short, black hair, dark eyes, and naturally tanned skin. David Zimmerman was African-American and had buzzed hair, dark eyes, and a most eager smile.

"Is it just me, or is there something about the prospect of THIS performance that's so exciting?" David mused.

"No… I've been jazzed all day. I can't concentrate, man!" Wes piped in.

I smiled and nodded.

"Yeah same here. Didn't help that Fletcher did that thing where he mumbles incoherently and then refuses to pause for questions."

"Can you help me with the homework? I don't even know what a derivative is…" Wes muttered sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"Absolutely! A derivative is-"

"No business at lunch. It's depressing," David interrupted, jocularly.

I slugged him the shoulder playfully.

"How's Laura?" I inquired, as we started moving toward our usual table in the far left corner of the cafeteria.

The room was originally a ballroom. When the enrollment at Dalton exceeded 700, they converted the smallest of the ballrooms into a cafeteria. That said, the navy blue draperies hanging from the big, square windows were made from crushed velvet and the floors made from the finest wood. Elaborately crafted crown molding in the richest shade of ivory lined the ceilings. Tables had been set up across the old dance floor complete with tablecloths.

"She's fine. She's really looking forward to sectionals. You know, because she never gets to see us practice? Yeah, Shelton lets out too late for her to make it here in time for rehearsal," David sighed as we sat down.

Unfolding my lunch bag, I see that my mother has packed me a turkey sandwich on wheat with Swiss cheese, mayo on one side, mustard on the other. It's my favorite. Underneath the sandwich, I found a sliced apple, a bag of Goldfish, a zebra cake, and a Sprite. God, I love my mom.

"Have you told her our tentative set list?" I grilled him.

"Hell no! I know better than that!" he smirked. "Plus, you'd flay me alive."

I grinned.

"Damn straight."

I turned to Wes, who was digging into his cold pizza.

"What about Jenna? Is she coming to sectionals?"

"She can't. It's her great-grandmother 98th birthday and her whole family is driving to Harrisburg that weekend," he said, disappointment written all over his face.

"Cheer up, Wes. She can just come watch us at regionals!"

David and Wes chuckled.

"Cocky, aren't we?" David questioned, eyebrows raised.

"_Confident._ The Warblers are better than they've ever been. We've got a bunch of new talent and plus several returning members. We'll take the cake easily if we continue to work hard."

"Nope, not cocky at all," Wes responded to David.

I elbowed him.

"Our competition is a bunch of old folks and McKinley High. The old people won't be able to match our choreography and McKinley… well… I just don't see them as being a serious threat. Even if their vocals are killer, their addiction to Journey is downright repulsive."

"Journey's classic, man. And they made it farther than we did last time," David commented, biting into his banana.

"Yeah, but you remember Mr. Marquette."

Both boys nodded grimly. Our choir director last year had been dreadful. He picked the worst songs, dreamed up the most ridiculous dance moves, and gave all the vocal leads to his favorites. As it happened, his favorites were tone deaf. Thankfully, after months of petitioning, we got him dropped as the director and got Mr. Jamison instead. Jamison was a godsend. He knew music, he knew moves, and thank god, he knew talent when he saw it. He was approachable, funny, and very cute (though I would never admit it aloud).

"Okay, Blaine. You've got a point, but that doesn't mean we can relax at all. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Wes yelled, thumping the table.

We got several odd looks, but it was worth it. We continued to eat lunch, making an obscene number of Harry Potter references. Once we were finished, David and I waved to Wes as he made his way to English, promising to leak word about the show. The two of us scaled the stairs and enter the physics lab.

Mr. Cohn was standing on a lab table, waving a meter stick in the air. He had rich, brown hair with little flecks of gray and bright, blue eyes that shone when he got excited about physics. He smiled as we walked in.

"Blaine, David. I hear there's something going on today?" he asked, jumping down onto the floor.

"How'd you know?" I wondered.

"I know things."

I eyed him suspiciously.

"Fair enough. Are you going to go?"

"Is the army the best branch of the military?" he countered.

"Yes!" David exclaimed. "My older brother is a first lieutenant."

"HOOAH. Let's do some physics!"

Needless to say, Mr. Cohn was my favorite teacher. His class was always entertaining, even if physics wasn't my favorite subject. After a simulating lesson on ballistics, David and I made sure a rumor started circulating about the show in the senior commons after class. While everyone was supposed to be working on homework, I counted no less than sixteen people texting frantically on their phones. Considering that other members of the Warblers were also spreading the word and the "no texting" policy was not strongly enforced, I expected a decent turnout.

The bell rang and I was nearly trampled as I tried to exit the room. David had managed to squeeze out before the stampede, as had Mr. Cohn. As the last one left, I shut off the lights and leisurely made my way down to the senior commons. I didn't get very far; someone stopped me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Excuse me. Um hi, can I ask you a question? I'm new here," a timid voice said behind me.

I couldn't help looking him over. His hair was the color of milk chocolate and his eyes were a delightful combination of green and blue. However, I immediately knew he was lying about going here. For one, the school was small enough that new students never went unnoticed. For another, his uniform was off, like he'd attempted to construct a replica with what he had in his closet. Teachers were sticklers about the dress code and he would have been called on it by now, new student or not. Regardless, his slight nervousness was endearing and I decided to play along.

"My name is Blaine," I introduced, extending my hand.

"Kurt," he replied, grasping it.

He gave me a small smile as I shook his soft, slightly cold hand.

"So, what exactly is going on?" the boy asked, looking at the floods of people still streaming towards the impending concert.

"The Warblers," I told him. "Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. It tends to shut the school down for a while."

He looked confused by my remarks.

"So… wait, the glee club here is kind of cool?"

"The Warblers are like… rock stars."

His eyebrows twitched in combination of shock and disbelief.

"Come on," I grinned, "I know a short cut."

I reached out and grabbed his free hand, pulling him along. At first, he looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening somewhat. However, he quickly let it go and allowed me to drag him through the school.

I turned a corner and lead him through one of the old sitting rooms at a jog. Despite the increased pace, he did his best to look around at the old, leather furnishings, the room-sized mural, and the enormous glass chandelier. His amazement made me smile to myself.

As we approached the double doors leading into the commons, I released the boy's hand, much to my dismay. He glanced around the room at the hardwood walls and the oddly spaced portraits of important people.

"I stick out like a sore thumb," he commented, noting the mob of people all dressed exactly like me.

"Well, next time don't forget your jacket, new kid," I chastised gently, reaching over and flattening his collar. "You'll fit right in."

I gave him a reassuring smile and patted him on the arm. Just then, the Warblers began the opening chords to the song.

"Now, if you'll excuse me."

Handing my bag to the person on my left, I started singing.

"~You think I'm pretty  
Without any make-up on  
You think I'm funny  
When I tell the punch line wrong  
I know you get me  
So I'll let my walls come down, down

Before you met me  
I was a wreck  
But things were kinda heavy  
You brought me to life  
Now every February  
You'll be my valentine, valentine

Let's go all the way tonight  
No regrets, just love  
We can dance until we die  
You and I  
We'll be young forever

You make me  
Feel like I'm living a

Teenage dream  
The way you turn me on  
I can't sleep  
Let's runaway  
And don't ever look back  
Don't ever look back

My heart stops  
When you look at me  
Just one touch  
Now baby I believe  
This is real  
So take a chance  
And don't ever look back  
Don't ever look back

We drove to Cali  
And got drunk on the beach  
Got a motel and  
Built a fort out of sheets  
I finally found you  
My missing puzzle piece  
I'm complete

Let's go all the way tonight  
No regrets, just love  
We can dance until we die  
You and I  
We'll be young forever

You make me  
Feel like I'm living a

Teenage dream  
The way you turn me on  
I can't sleep  
Let's runaway  
And don't ever look back  
Don't ever look back

My heart stops  
When you look at me  
Just one touch  
Now baby I believe  
This is real  
So take a chance  
And don't ever look back  
Don't ever look back

I might get your heart racing  
In my skin-tight jeans  
Be your teenage dream tonight

Let you put your hands on me  
In my skin-tight jeans  
Be your teenage dream tonight

You make me  
Feel like I'm living a

Teenage dream  
The way you turn me on  
I can't sleep  
Let's runaway  
And don't ever look back  
Don't ever look back

My heart stops  
When you look at me  
Just one touch  
Now baby I believe  
This is real  
So take a chance  
And don't ever look back  
Don't ever look back~"

I watched Kurt the entire time. In fact, I was singing to him. Seeing as I just met the kid, and he was probably a spy for McKinley, it may have been a bad idea to be so forward. But, there was just something about him. That, coupled with the fact that I was notoriously flirtatious, should have created a delicious recipe for disaster.

However, my attention appeared to be well received. At first he looked out of place and uncomfortable but, as he got lost in the music, his expression softened and he smiled the most genuine, most heartwarming smile I've ever seen in my life. If I didn't have such a good show face, I probably would have faltered.

As the song concluded, we were met with cheering and hollering as our classmates swarmed in around us to give their sincere praise. I snuck a glance over at Kurt. He hadn't moved from his spot by the door, but his eyes were as wide as saucers and he was clapping furiously. Once the crowd of people began to dissipate, I motioned to Wes and David to follow me. After grabbing my bag off one of the couches, I slung a casual arm over Kurt's shoulders.

"So, let's me guess. You're from McKinley and you're scoping out the competition?"

I saw several different emotions flicker through his eyes.

"What gave me away?" he said softly, head bowed.

I laughed lightly, patting his back.

"Several things, Kurt. For the record, you're not a very good spy. E for effort, though."

He looked downright miserable. In a weird way, seeing this kid so upset made me sad too.

"Hey, it's not a big deal. Let's grab a coffee," I offered.

"I should go," he mumbled, still not making eye contact.

I suddenly realized that there was more to this than a simple reconnaissance mission.

"Why don't you go change clothes and then we'll have some coffee in the break room? You can tell us why you decided to pay us a visit."

I gently steered him toward the bathroom, David and Wes following at my flanks. We waited nearly fifteen minutes before the boy reemerged. He was now dressed in a stylish, black button-up with some exotic-looking pattern, and the tie and jacket to match. His black pants hugged him in all the right places and his shoes screamed "designer".

"Aren't you guys supposed to be in class?" he mused, finally making eye contact.

"Only athletics. It's inconsequential," Wes chimed in.

David and I nodded in agreement.

We made our way to the lounge. I directed Kurt to the first table we passed and continued on to the coffee maker. It was a multi-purpose machine that could whip up the best coffee, lattes, or espressos in the world. I prepared four and carried them back to the table.

"Latte?" I offered, sliding the coffee drink across the table to Kurt.

He mouthed his thanks.

"This is Wes and David," I introduced, nodding to my friends.

"It's very civilized for you to invite me for coffee before you beat me up for spying," Kurt said sincerely.

"We are not going to beat you up," assured Wes.

"You were such a terrible spy we thought it was endearing," David added.

"Which made me think that spying on us wasn't really the reason you came," I said, looking him straight in the eye with a small smirk.

He exhaled with a little more force than necessary, covering it with an awkward smile.

"Can I ask you guys a question?" he said, looking at the three of us. "Are you guys all gay?"

We all chuckled and Kurt's face fell noticeably as he suddenly became uncomfortable.

"Uh, uh, no," I started. "I mean, I am, but these two have girlfriends."

"This is not a gay school. We just have a zero-tolerance harassment policy," David offered.

"Everyone gets treated the same, no matter what they are. It's pretty simple," Wes concluded.

Kurt looked like he wanted to respond, but the words just wouldn't come. He was quickly overcome by emotions. The longing that welled up in Kurt's eyes struck a chord with me. I could see the feelings being dredged up: pain, loneliness, utter sadness. I understood exactly what was going on and suddenly I knew that he needed my help.

"Would you guys excuse us?" I asked.

Wes and David nodded.

"Take it easy, Kurt," Wes said as the boys left.

For several moments, Kurt refused to look at me. He kept his gaze trained on the floor, breathing heavily.

"I take it you're having trouble at school," I began, hoping to coax him into talking.

He turned his eyes in my direction, the pain in his gaze tearing into me.

"I'm the only person out of the closet at my school," he said, no louder than a whisper as a tear fell from his eye. "And I-I-I-I tried to stay strong about it but… there's this Neanderthal who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell."

He shook his head as a few more tears escaped.

"And nobody seems to notice."

I nodded, my eyebrows arching as the ghost of a smile passed over my face.

"I know how you feel. I got taunted at my old school and it really… pissed me off," I growled. "I even complained about it to the faculty and, uh, they were sympathetic and all but you could just tell that nobody really cared. It was like, 'Hey, if you're gay, your life's just going to be miserable. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it.'"

Kurt lowered his head and I knew that he'd been on the receiving end of the same sentiments.

"So I left. I came here. As simple as that."

I paused for a beat.

"So you have two options. I mean, I'd love to tell you to just come enroll here, but tuition at Dalton is sort of steep and I know that's not an option for everybody. Or, you can refuse to be the victim."

Kurt was completely fixated on my words. His eyebrows were somewhat scrunched and his lips were slightly apart. But his eyes were guarded as if he wasn't allowing himself to be hopeful about a solution to his troubles.

"Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt, and you have a chance right now to teach them."

"How?" he asked meekly.

"_Confront them_," I said emphatically. "_Call them out_."

I watched him process my words. Before he could comment, I jumped in.

"I ran, Kurt. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away and it is something I really, really regret."

He watched me very carefully for nearly a minute before he let his eyes fall.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

I stood up and he did the same. We tossed our empty cups in the trash as we left, heading toward the parking lot. He stopped at a black Cadillac Escalade in a visitor's parking spot.

"Listen, Kurt. I know how it feels to go it alone. I mean, my parents and my friends are supportive, but they don't _get _it. In this town, being different is a curse. I couldn't stand up on my own and now, you won't have to."

I rummaged in my bag for a scrap of paper and a pen and jotted down my number. I pressed the paper into Kurt's palm, letting my hand linger a few seconds longer than necessary.

"You're not alone, remember that. If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call me or text me."

Once again, Kurt's head dropped. Before I could stop myself, I pulled the smaller boy into my arms, embracing him. His defensive walls crumbled and he began sobbing into my blazer. I stroked his soft hair, but I didn't make any promises that everything would be okay. In all honesty, Kurt had a rough road ahead of him and meaningless platitudes would lessen the significance. But one thing I could guarantee him: I would be there to help him along the way.


	2. Superman  It's Not Easy

**Okay, so I'm pretty sure you all want to bludgeon me for taking so long, right? Sorry about that... I'm not a fast writer because I generally like to deliberate over everything. I'm actually really proud of myself for finishing it. I have a tendency to give up on my writing projects, but I'm really devoted to this one. Plus, the outpouring of support is a wonderful confidence booster. Honestly, I never expected to get as many review/favorites/alerts. I appreciate it. I really do!**

**This chapter was difficult to write because I had to really delve into who I think Blaine is as a person. I hope it doesn't disappoint and, as always, I would love feedback, especially on how well you think my characterization fits. I hope it meets expectations. **

**T****hank you, dear readers, for indulging my shameless obsession. **

**Disclaimer: Story title credit goes to Green Day. Chapter title credit goes to Five For Fighting. And I swear if Glee belonged to me, we wouldn't be waiting until FEBRUARY for more delicious Klaine. **

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**The Song Of The Century**

**Chapter 2: Superman (It's Not Easy)**

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I'm not sure how long we stood there in the school's parking lot, Kurt clinging to me like a life raft. Eventually his sobs turned into a quiet sniffling which, in turn, became labored breathing. I traced small circles on his back as I felt his heart rate return to normal. He finally pulled away from my body and I immediately missed the contact. The boy's eyes were swollen and his hair was slightly ruffled.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, throat dry.

"Don't worry about it," I said sincerely, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I got your jacket wet."

I looked down and he had, in fact, left a sizeable ring of wetness on the right side of my chest.

"It'll dry," I shrugged.

He gave me a watery smile as he climbed into his car. I watched him pull out of the spot, maneuver through the parking lot, and turn out onto the road. I remained rooted to the spot for several minutes, staring at the place where the boy had just been. My head was foggy and incapable of coherent thought. Kurt had elicited such powerful emotions from me that I suddenly needed to sit down. So I did, right there on the pavement.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, trying to massage away the haze. I needed to set something straight: I was not in love with Kurt. Love at first sight doesn't actually exist; the more accurate description for the phenomenon would be infatuation at first smell. I knew all about pheromones and nasal receptors and how the combination of the two produced biological changes consistent with someone in love. There was no denying that the boy smelled fantastic, looked fantastic, _was_ fantastic, nor could I deny that I had shamelessly flirted with him. But I certainly wasn't in love. Not with him, anyway.

No, the source of this emotional flurry was the knowledge that there was another person suffering as I suffered. Kurt was being mistreated like I had been a few years ago. It stirred up a mixture of unadulterated fury, sincere sympathy, and… something deeper. Memories of pain swirled around my consciousness. I felt a twinge in my left shoulder as I remembered the agony of a freshly broken collarbone. The ability to breathe momentarily escaped me, reliving one of the many times the wind had been knocked out of me.

Once I'd regained lung capacity, I let out a shuddering breath. For the first time in a good while, I was legitimately terrified. Though honestly, I didn't know if it was for Kurt's well-being or mine. My legs trembled as I stood up and made my way back through the main doors and towards the choir room seeing as I'd already missed all of athletics.

I stumbled into the room where the Warblers were seated, discussing the set list for sectionals with Mr. Jamison. At my intrusion, he turned around and a smile spilt his face.

"Ah, Blaine! I was wondering where you were," the man said warmly.

He was barely into his mid-twenties, with jet black hair and emerald green eyes. He was wearing a charcoal gray fedora and a gray-and-black striped tie over a gray wife beater. He had baggy black cargo pants that were long enough to engulf most of his black loafers, the only part of his ensemble that adhered to the dress code. Even teachers were expected to dress appropriately but Mr. Jamison was, apparently, the exception. He was so well liked by the students, the faculty, and the administration that no one bothered him over so trivial an offense.

I donned the best show smile I could muster.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss practice for anything."

"Good man," he said, patting me on the back.

I took my seat between Wes and David, who were looking at me inquisitively. Obviously, they wanted to know how things went with Kurt, but now was not the time or place to discuss it. I trained my eyes on Mr. Jamison, shaking my head ever so slightly. They understood and redirected their attention.

"Your performance today was excellent! Your voices are in top shape and we're shoo-ins for sectionals if we keep this up! Of course the choreography was practically nonexistent but the senior commons doesn't lend itself to outrageous dance moves, does it?" Jamison laughed, clapping a sandy-haired boy named Parker Wheatley on the shoulder.

We chuckled with him. The senior common room, while comfortable, wasn't big enough to host a serious dance routine.

"Anyway, you guys seemed to really enjoy Katy Perry. Should we add her into our tentative set list?"

Shouts of approval emanated from group, me included.

"Well, that's settled. Now, are we sticking with 'Teenage Dream' or should we go for a different song?"

Most of the guys were content to use "Teenage Dream" in competition but I knew that wasn't a good idea. It wasn't that I didn't trust Kurt but any leaked knowledge, accidental or otherwise, would be a disadvantage.

"I think we should change it up," I suggested, jumping to my feet. "Constant change forces us to stay at the top of our game and we're going to need that edge if we want to win."

I knew it was a weak argument and I could think of a number of reasons that my previous statement should be shot down. The truth of the matter was I didn't want to explain to the group about Kurt. Wes and David obviously understood because they quickly backed me up.

"We're already so good at 'Teenage Dream' it wouldn't be any fun to practice it for the next month," Wes chimed in.

"Plus, Blaine keeps coming in weak on the final chorus. If he has to have the lead," David moaned, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, "we should pick a song more trained to his vocals."

"Wes has a point," I said, ignoring David's grin. "What other Katy Perry songs do you like?"

"What about 'I Kissed A Girl'?" Parker suggested.

A blush involuntarily rose to my cheeks.

"I'm not sure Blaine could sing that with a straight face," Mr. Jamison said, elbowing me gently.

I couldn't help but laugh. The anxiety that had settled into my stomach from earlier lifted marginally from Jamison's good natured ribbing.

"How about 'Fireworks'?" I offered.

The proposal was met with murmurs of assent.

"Excellent! Let's get started," Mr. Jamison beamed, clapping his hands.

I returned to my seat as we discussed the logistics of the number. As the president of the Warblers, I should have been more involved than I was. However, I found myself highly distracted. For the first time in several weeks, there was something that took precedence over sectionals. Before I knew it, class was over and the other members were streaming out the door.

"Blaine, you've been really out of it all period. What happened with Kurt?" David asked, concerned.

I sighed and ran a hand over my slick hair.

"I… He… He's being bullied. I just… I don't know. I guess I tried to help the best I could but talking to him… brought up a lot of repressed memories."

My gaze fell to my shoes as I absently rubbed my left shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mr. Jamison asked.

He'd been hovering near the grand piano. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed a chair and spun it around, straddling it backward.

"Not particularly. I've got to go anyway. Lacrosse practice."

I jumped up, grabbed my bag, and hurried out. While I did have practice this afternoon, I knew there was no use in going. If I couldn't focus during choir, there was no way I would be able play a team sport. Instead, I scurried in the opposite direction of the locker room. I made it to my car in less than two minutes and drove home on autopilot while my brain was working overtime.

I pulled into the empty garage and barreled up the stairs. My parents wouldn't be home for at least two more hours and, even if they were home, I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to them about this quite yet. No, I knew exactly who to call. Pulling my phone from my pocket as I kicked off my shoes, I tapped out a text message on my phone.

"_Hey, what are you doing right now?"_

I started undressing, exchanging my uniform for a pair of jeans and a navy polo. My phone buzzed as I sat down on my bed.

"_Homework. So, nothing really. What's up?"_

_"Can you come over, please? I need your advice,"_ I replied quickly.

Less than a minute later, my doorbell rang. I jumped downstairs, skidded across the marble foyer, and yanked open the front door. On the step was a small, skinny girl with bright red hair, ice blue eyes, and a big smile.

Robin was my best friend. Our parents hung around even before they knew they were expecting. Naturally, we grew up together. We went to the same play groups, the same summer camps; we basically did everything together. We even dated briefly, before I came to terms with my sexuality. She was the only person who I missed from my old school, but seeing as she was at my house so much, I didn't really have the chance to miss her. She knew everything about me and always seemed to provide the objectivity I desperately lacked, regardless of the situation.

"I love it when you need advice," she said, strutting past me and into the kitchen.

She grabbed a box of cookies from the pantry and skipped up the stairs without waiting for me. I eventually followed and found her sprawled out on my bed, munching on a cookie.

"Please tell me it's about a boy," she pleaded, looking over at me.

"Kind of…" I admitted.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. "Is it Braxton?"

"No, no… It's more complicated than that, Robin," I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Isn't it always?" she sighed, shaking her head.

I shoved her playfully and she threw a cookie at me. I plucked the cookie up off the carpet and bit into it.

"Mmm… no wonder you always eat my cookies. These are really good."

I made a mental note to ask Mom to buy more.

"You didn't call me over here to clean out your pantry, Blaine. Get to the good stuff."

I sighed heavily and launched into an explanation of the afternoon's events. I watched as Robin's face shifted from eagerness to concern.

"I guess you didn't tell him about Burkeman, then," she said, looking pointedly at my shoulder.

"No… I should have, I guess. I just didn't want to scare him. I know what he's up against and he's going to need all his courage. My parents could afford to send me here when things got out of hand, but I don't know about Kurt or his financial situation. As far as I know, he doesn't have a choice; he has to stay at McKinley and for that, he's going to have to confront them. Telling him horror stories would only decimate the sliver of courage I managed to instill during our time together."

Robin was silent for quite a while. I lowered my head, picking at the fuzz on my comforter.

"Talking to Kurt brought back bad memories for you."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"How are you holding up?"

I glanced up, her blue eyes trained on me. I gave her a weak smile.

"My head was wonky in choir and I cut lacrosse practice. I nearly suffocated in the parking lot, my muscles painfully recalling one of the many times the breath was beaten out of me. I'm fine…"

I couldn't look at her. I hated the self-pity but I hated the self-loathing that came along with the pity more than anything. My experience at that school put me in a bad place. It took years for me to get back to being mentally and emotionally stable. And yet, it had been so easy for me to succumb to the lingering pain from the memories that haunted me. Heat flooded my cheeks and I suppressed the urge to cry.

Robin, sensing that the emotional turmoil was reaching a breaking point, shuffled closer to me and wrapped her arms around me. A strangled gasp escaped me as I began sobbing onto Robin's shoulder. Her gentle fingers found their way to my head, where she ran her fingers over my gelled hair. It helped to calm me down. Soon, I was just sniffling pathetically. Robin pulled away from me and tilted my head so that I was forced to look her in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to avert my eyes in vain.

"Blaine, I love you. You've been put through horrors, endured things that no one ever should and no one expects you to magically be over it. Especially now that you're seeing history repeat itself in Kurt. You're seeing yourself in him and you're afraid all over again."

I shuddered.

"You're safe now," she soothed, "but there is a boy out there that isn't. He needs you to be strong for him. Can you do that?"

I nodded, holding her gaze, eyes still slightly watery.

"Good. You know what he's up against. You had to suffer terrible injustices but maybe you can use that negative experience in a positive way."

She rubbed circles on my back and I closed my eyes. I took several deep breaths before opening them again. I smiled and wiped away the residual tears.

"There's that smile," Robin grinned playfully.

"How is that you always know what to say?"

"I know everything because I'm awesome."

I rolled my eyes and flopped over on my bed. Suddenly, Robin's phone buzzed.

"Aw crap… I forgot to do the dishes. I've got to go before I 'get flogged within an inch of my life' or something," she explained, quoting the text. "Oh, the things my mother comes up to summon me home…"

I laughed as I walked Robin to the door.

"Thank you, Robin," I said sincerely, pulling her into a hug. "You know you're the best, right?"

"Errday!" she exclaimed, pumping her fist into the air as she walked out of my house.

Shaking my head, I went back upstairs to start on the mountain of homework that came with attending Dalton. As I slid into my desk chair and began unloading my study materials, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I jumped in surprise before checking the device.

_"Dude, what happened to you today? Coach is pissed. He's going to make you do laps for cutting practice."_

My heart skipped a little. The text message was from Braxton Chase. We were on the lacrosse team together and, to be honest, I'd had a crush on him ever since I came to Dalton. He was tall, masculine but not brutish, intelligent, witty, and supremely talented on the lacrosse field. In fact, he was the reason I joined the team last year.

_"I… it was a hard day. I couldn't really focus."_

Braxton and I had become casual friends from constantly being around each other during practices and games. However, we weren't close enough for me to divulge the real reason I skipped out.

_"I hear that. Hey, you guys were great today. Your rendition of Teenage Dream was awesome."_

A blush rose to my cheeks, embarrassed by his praise.

_"Thanks. You know, you should join the Warblers. I've heard you singing in the locker room. You've got a great voice. We're always recruiting the vocally able!"_

I cringed after I send the message. It sounded like I was not only a dork, but a creeping dork that enjoyed eavesdropping on unsuspecting singers. Today was not my day.

_"Ha ha. __I'll consider it."_

I heaved a sigh of relief. At least he didn't think I was stalking him. Before I had a chance to tap out reply, he sent me another message.

"_Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch with me on Friday. I know a great sandwich place a few blocks away."_

For a few moments, my heart stopped. Braxton Chase was asking me to lunch. Braxton Chase, the extremely attractive star lacrosse player, wanted to eat lunch with me. Braxton Chase wanted to eat lunch alone with me on Friday. I was practically giddy.

_"Sounds good. See you then."_

I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. While my sexual orientation was no secret at Dalton, I had no idea which team Braxton was playing for. Of course, I had my hopes but nothing was definitive. I'd never seen him holding hands with anyone at school nor had I seen a supportive girlfriend cheering him on at games. He was, in many ways, a mystery I was most eager to investigate. Though, the logical portion of my brain warned me not to get my hopes up, it was too late; for all intents and purposes, I was going on a date with Braxton Chase.

I frantically texted Robin with this new development, to which she responded enthusiastically but not without a sexual innuendo… or four. She did, however, remind me not to get so sidetracked by this exciting turn of events that I forgot about my moral obligation to help Kurt.

While absently contemplating the best way to help Kurt from afar, I decided to get started on my homework. By the time I heard the garage open to signal that my mom was home from work, I'd finished reading the assigned chapters in _Frankenstein_ as well as the section in the government textbook concerning political parties, interest groups, and mass media. I'd crafted a decent proposal for my English paper on the idea of man versus monster, wrote a few pages about the government discussion questions, and cranked out a problem set on derivatives for calculus. I still had a formidable work load waiting for me, but I decided to take a break.

I padded downstairs to greet my mother. She was slim and of medium height, with dark brown ringlets framing her face. As she saw me she smiled, accenting well-worn laugh lines on her young face.

"Hello, darling. How was school?" she asked, pulling me into a hug.

I inhaled deeply, reveling in the comfort her scent brought me. It was a unique blend of lilacs and vanilla, mixed in with traces of 'new book'. Any traces of reluctance to talk about my problems disappeared and, without letting go, I regaled her with a shortened version of my school day. As I explained Kurt's situation, my mother pulled away to look me in the eyes, worry etched onto her face.

"Did you… did it… are you okay, honey?"

"I'm alright, Mom. Robin came over. We talked."

She let out a small sigh of relief; my mom was aware of Robin's ability to fix any situation.

"You'll let me know if you need something, right? Kurt, too. He's welcome any time he needs a place to crash."

I beamed at my mom. She had an uncanny ability to recognize what I needed and, more impressively, what I would need even before I needed it. Pecking her on the cheek, I excused myself to attend to the still considerable pile of homework waiting in my room. I skipped up the stairs and, as I was returning to my desk, I caught sight of the lighted display on my phone. Apparently, I had a new text message.

"_Hey, it's Kurt. I just wanted to say thanks for listening."_

I involuntarily smiled as I stored his number in my phone.

_"Any time, Kurt. I mean it. :)"_

Tossing my phone aside, I set out to finish my homework pausing only for dinner and, as it was Wednesday, a new episode of Law & Order: SVU. At 11:30, I'd finished everything that had to be completed for tomorrow. While I would have liked to get more done, the day had been emotionally taxing. I threw down my pen, changed into a sleep shirt and flannel bottoms, and brushed my teeth. I popped out my contacts, cracked the window and climbed into bed.

I dreamed I was in the middle of a desert. Rock formations of varying shades of reddish-brown cropped out of the ground and strange, melting pocket watches were coating every inch of exposed stone. I walked forward, noticing that I was in my Dalton uniform. As I passed more rocks and more clocks, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and the breath caught in my chest. Peeking over my shoulder, I didn't see a pursuer but I felt its presence. Before I got much farther, I saw a face. Steely eyes, a protruding jaw, and bristly hair. A letterman jacket. A scowl that made my blood run cold.

I began to sprint in the opposite direction, the boulders blurring on either side. I heard a rush of wings and I felt strong claws lift me up. Wings beat powerfully overhead, as we soared out of the desert, through a canyon and into a giant crevice several hundred feet off the ground. Not long after we flew through the gap in the rocks, we came to a lush valley.

The bird hovered a few feet from the ground before dropping me and touching down. I got a good look at the creature before I smiled; it was a hippogriff. I bowed as protocol dictated and, after receiving one in return, I stroked the soft feathers on its head.

"You saved me," I said affectionately.

The hippogriff cooed, nuzzling my hand.

"Ariosto likes you," a voice whispered from behind me.

Although I should have been surprised, I calmly turned around to greet the newcomer. In front of me was Braxton Chase, though he wasn't wearing his uniform. Instead, he was dressed in a toga complete with a crown of golden laurels atop his pale blonde hair. His warm smile was reflected in his soft, brown eyes. He walked forward to pet the beast, his hand gently grazing mine.

"I named him after the 16th century poet Ludovico Ariosto."

I didn't ask why he was here or how he got there. I didn't ask why he was wearing a toga or how he knew I was in trouble. For the moment, it didn't seem to matter.

"Where did you find him?"

Braxton laughed, patting my shoulder with his free hand.

"I didn't find him. He found me. Just like he found you. Just like… I found you," he murmured, running his thumb over my cheek.

Our eyes locked and we instinctively moved closer, my eyes fluttering shut. With little more than a centimeter between our lips, he muttered my name, as if asking permission. However the voice wasn't the smooth dulcet tones I associated with Braxton. The sound was much higher pitched and quavering with apparent nervousness.

"Blaine?" the voice repeated again.

I drew back and opened my eyes. Instead of Braxton, I stood face-to-face with Kurt. I scrambled away from the boy, tripping on the hem on his toga. As I collided with the ground, the dream ended.

Sitting up in bed, I ran a hand through my tousled hair. I had no idea what that was about. I mean, I was definitely excited for lunch with Braxton but as far as I knew it wasn't anything to be worked up about.

Closing my eyes, I massaged my temple. Kurt's fearful, questioning expression lingered behind my eyelids. I wasn't sure why he showed up, honestly, but I guessed that the day's drama must have called forth the image from my memory. What other explanation was there?

I flopped over, piling more blankets over my body. A peek at my clock meant that I still had two and a half more hours before I had to get up. I struggled to get comfortable for fifteen minutes before I wandered down to the kitchen for a snack. My father was sitting at the table with papers littering every inch of the surface.

"Ah, Blaine. What are you doing up, son?" he asked, gesturing for me to sit down.

I dropped into the chair after grabbing an apple off the counter. My dad's glasses were askew and thick, dark hair was sticking up at awkward angles. A couple of the buttons on his white dress shirt had popped open and his tie was crooked. Despite that, the smile spread across his tanned, gently worn face was genuine.

"I had a weird dream," I stated, biting into the fruit's rosy flesh.

"Do tell," my dad encouraged, tossing his pen onto the pad of paper in front of him.

If my father thought it was weird for me to be dreaming of hippogriffs or of attractive teammates, he didn't mention it. Once I got to Kurt, though, I had to follow up with a run down of the previous day. As I recounted the story, I watched my father's face darken.

"No wonder you were quiet at dinner…" he mused, scratching his head. "Are you okay, bud?"

Internally, I laughed a little bit. The fact that my parents had identical reactions reinforced my belief that they shared hive mind.

"Yeah, dad. I'm fine."

The look in his eyes told me he didn't believe a word of it.

"Really, I'm alright. I talked to Robin."

He nodded and the knowledge that she was involved seemed to assuage his concern.

"Well, son, you know we're always here for you if you need it. The same goes for that Kurt kid. He sounds like he needs some help…"

My dad let out a tremendous yawn. He stretched his back and crossed his arms over his chest before standing up.

"I might as well turn in. Nothing else is getting done tonight. Sleep well, Blaine. I love you, bud," he said, clapping me on the back.

"Night, dad. I love you, too."

I watched him stagger into the dark recesses of the house before I got up and went back to my room. Rolling onto my bed, I stared at the blank ceiling as I attempted to organize my thoughts. Somewhere in the middle of that, however, I fell asleep only to be woken up by my blaring alarm clock a few hours later.

I drifted through my morning routine on autopilot and was pleasantly surprised to find myself at school a full minute before the late bell. Eyes followed me as I took my place in the Calculus room.

"Blaine, what's up with you, man? I called you five times last night!" Wes whispered loudly.

"Sorry… I was busy, I guess," I muttered absently.

"Blaine, seriously," David stated, crouching by my seat. "You've got to tell us what's going on."

"Okay. Alright. I'll tell you at lunch."

Appeased, they turned their attention to Mr. Fletcher. As a group, we stood until he motioned for us to take our seats.

"Pop quiz!" he announced after taking attendance.

A collective groan rose from the students as the teacher beamed and distributed papers. The material wasn't difficult, but my heart wasn't in it. Something about that dream had gotten to me. I shuffled from class to class, participating as little as possible. When lunch rolled around, Wes and David were waiting to intercept me outside my Latin classroom.

"Spill it, Blaine," David demanded.

"You promised," Wes needled, hooking his arm through mine.

I used the walk to the cafeteria to organize my thoughts. We sat down at our usual table and the entire story of yesterday, dream included, came out in a great deluge of words. Once I'd finished, I felt considerably better. David rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger while Wes ran a hand through his hair.

"What does it mean?" I asked eagerly.

David sighed heavily.

"Honestly? I have no idea."

My heart sank a little bit.

"It means that, although you like Braxton, you know you have a duty to Kurt that will take precedence if the need arises."

David and I gaped at Wes, shell-shocked. He was more-or-less the comic relief of our trio and I'd never seen him spew something so pensive.

"It makes sense," he remarked, unperturbed by our dazed expressions.

With a shrug, he dug into his calzone. I exchanged a glance with David, who was blinking rapidly as he tried to process the rare occurrence. Mulling over Wes' analysis of the goings-on of my subconscious, I nibbled half-heartedly at my lunch. My preoccupation with the Braxton-Kurt dynamic lasted through physics, through athletics (and a very disgruntled coach who wasn't particularly pleased that I'd skipped the previous day), and into the start of choir.

"How's it going, Blaine?" Mr. Jamison questioned meaningfully.

"Fine," I said, mustering some cheer onto my blank face.

He nodded, unconvinced, but he dropped the issue as I took my place.

"Alright, guys. Yesterday we decided to forgo 'Teenage Dream' in favor of 'Fireworks'. We still need two more songs for our sectionals repertoire. Suggestions?"

At the mention of the Katy Perry song, a flash of Kurt from my dream appeared in my mind's eye. Fear and confusion were etched onto the porcelain-like surface as I backed away from the boy, inadvertently tripping. For some reason, I felt guilty for my reaction and was compelled to make amends for the imagined slight. I covertly removed my phone from my pocket and tapped out the word "Courage" before sending it to Kurt.

"Something you'd like to share with us, Blaine?" Mr. Jamison chastised gently.

"No, sir," I replied, cheeks flushing faintly.

"I'd like to talk to you after class," he stated with finality.

He turned to the rest of the group.

"Okay, so the current nominations are 'Hey, Soul Sister' and 'If We Ever Meet Again'. Do we have any more?"

"'I'll Make A Man Out Of You'!" Wes shouted.

"Really guys? Mulan?"

"Come on, Mr. J. You know it's like the best Disney movie ever!" another boy cried.

I couldn't help laughing along with the rest of the Warblers. Mr. Jamison rolled his eyes but added the submission to the board. Since no one had any other ideas, the voting portion of the process commenced. By the end of the class, the only thing we'd managed to accomplish was to eliminate "If We Ever Meet Again". There was a stalemate between Mulan fans and Train supporters.

The Warblers trickled out as I remained behind. Mr. Jamison waited until the room was empty before approaching me.

"Alright, Blaine. Talk to me. What's going on?" he inquired, sitting down next to me.

Mr. Jamison was the kind of teacher who took an interest in his students so I knew when he asked, he wanted a real answer.

"So there was this boy at our show yesterday…" I started.

Once again, I found myself recounting the events of the previous day. And, for the first time since explaining myself to Robin, I included the feelings of terror that surrounded me after Kurt unlocked the memories of being in a similar situation. The words cascaded around me in a torrent of emotion. Before I'd realized it, I'd told him far more than I intended to about my past. By the end of my speech, I was shaking from the effort of reigning in the tears.

"Blaine, I…"

I crumpled and, for the second time in as many days, I was sobbing. The familiar pangs of self-pity and the accompanying self-loathing settled in the region of my stomach. Mr. Jamison's hand found its way to my back in support and he didn't say anything until I'd quieted down.

"Blaine."

I refused to look him in the eye.

"Blaine, look at me."

I shifted uncomfortably before raising my head just enough to see his face. In his eyes, I saw a familiar sadness.

"I understand."

He didn't need to elaborate because I saw for myself that he spoke the truth. Unshed tears pricked at the edges of his eyes as he clasped my shoulder firmly.

"Listen to me, Blaine. Deep down you hate yourself for not confronting your tormentors. You think that running makes you a worthless, weak coward."

They were statements, not questions.

"Courage isn't always about standing up and facing your fears head on. It's also about knowing when to back down and regroup."

"But-"

"But then why are you reduced to violent tears every time you remember what happened? Because no matter what, we're not supermen; our experiences have left scars. Some physical, but most of them emotional. Revisiting the memories is like ripping open the wounds. The pain doesn't go away, Blaine. We've seen things, been put through things that can't just be forgotten. But think of it this way: would you rather be running from who you are or from someone who hates you for knowing who you are? One you can get away from. One you can't."

I stared at Mr. Jamison, blinking slowly. He gave me a watery smile before standing up. I followed his lead. However, I stopped him as he made to leave.

"Thank you," I whispered as I hugged him briefly.

"Anytime, Blaine."

He left the classroom as my phone hummed in my pocket. Kurt was calling.

"Hello?" I croaked.

"Blaine? Um… something happened…"

He sounded small and afraid.

"What?" I asked, suddenly on edge.

"Well, the guy who's been picking on me… I confronted him today after he shoved me into the lockers."

"_And?"_

Kurt then mumbled something incoherent into the phone.

"What?"

"He kissed me," he said, barely whispering.

I sat down on the classroom floor.

"I'll be there in 2 hours," I said.

"No… no, Blaine. I'm okay… I just… I… could you come to my school tomorrow during lunch and talk to him? I think he needs help…"

My heart broke for Kurt. Although the boy had been abused and harassed, beaten and bruised, he still wanted to reach out to the bully.

"Absolutely. I'll meet you there."

What else could I say? Lunch date with Braxton or not, I knew that, come tomorrow at noon, I'd be at McKinley. Even if my scars would never fade, perhaps I could prevent Kurt from accumulating too many.


End file.
